Tales of the Tattooed: An Anthology of Ink (British Library Tales of the Weird Book 13) by John Miller

Author:John Miller [Miller, John]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Inking, sleeve, tattooing, Irezumi, sailor, short stories, Junichiro Tanizaki
Publisher: British Library Publishing
Published: 2019-10-27T20:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER IV

Wanted: An Artist

Miss Nan Sundy was an artist. She told herself she was an artist; her friends told her that she was an artist; her instructors told her that she was an artist. In fact, everybody with whom she came in contact told her the same, with the exception of people who are ordained to draw cheques for artists. This callous crew is comprised of art lovers with the funds to buy, and art editors with the power to buy.

Her financial condition, since the art school had set her adrift to make a name and fortune for herslf, had gone from bad to worse. No one who would pay a reasonable amount for her work would buy. Post-card manufacturers had kept her from starving while the necessities of life remained at normal prices; but when these prices began to soar it seemed that pay for work rose accordingly, with the exception of remuneration for post-card drawings.

Work along many other lines the pretty Miss Nan Sundy could have obtained; but she determinedly maintained that she was an artist, and she would live by art alone or starve.

She nearly starved.

But starvation breeds original ideas. An item which Nan chanced to see in a newspaper set her to thinking. Among the many foibles and fancies and fads which have helped along the hysteria of the past year or two, the item mentioned London society’s sudden craze for tattooing.

Nan craftily reasoned that New York society quickly would ape London in this new fad, and that San Francisco would as surely ape New York. Tattooing was art—could be made an art, at any rate. Ergo, she would tattoo the pampered flesh of society until art editors got ready to awake from their long, untroubled nap.

She borrowed money from a sceptical relative, handbagged her pride, and opened “The Bon Ton Tattooing Studio” on Grant Avenue. In the three months or more that followed this original venture she raised tattooing to the dignity of art, paid the relative who was no longer sceptical, went regularly to the bank, and declined with thanks the repeated requests of post-card manufacturers to send them more drawings. She charged fabulous fees and gloated over her nerve to do so. And society was content to pay the price.

It was nine o’clock at night. Nan was just preparing to close her little Orientally furnished hole-in-the-wall on Grant Avenue. A chubby society matron had insisted on having the green serpent, which was being wound about her puffy ankle by “Madame Nan Sundy”, completed before another day had dawned. She had paid double price for after-hours’ work, and Nan had been obliged to humour her.

She had just been driven away in her shining car, snake, pain, and all, when the door opened suddenly on Nan’s closing-up operations, and a man in a heavy, fur-lined overcoat and a silk hat came in.

He lifted his hat politely. “Madame Nan Sundy, the artist?” he asked.

She bowed and smiled a professional smile.

“Madame Sundy,” he said, “I want to impose upon your good nature by making a very peculiar request.

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